


Relativity

by PunkHazard



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: Genji always did take some sadistic pleasure in forcing McCree to endure his own bad decisions.





	Relativity

Jesse squints, pulling the brim of his hat lower over his eyes to shield them from a blast of dusty wind and the glint of sun off Genji’s armor. “Don’t need to lead so much,” he says, watching a bullet embed itself inches ahead of a training dummy’s head, half a second before the bot passes into that exact spot. “Bullets’re faster than your ninja stars,” he continues, watching as Genji empties a clip into the dummy’s body and extends his hand for another six bullets, “and don’t even bother thinkin’ about wind, either. Not at this range.”

“I hate the kick,” Genji tells him, loading each bullet one by one into his practice revolver’s cylinder. It takes him nearly three seconds, dextrous fingers making short work of the task but in McCree’s mind it’s an eternity.

Jesse rolls a bullet in his palm; squeezes it, wishes for a cigarillo. Last time he’d lit one up in the training arena, the sprinklers had gone off. “Cost of doin’ business,” he drawls.

Genji raises the gun, one hand supporting it by the grip, cocking his head to sight down its barrel. “Hmm,” he answers, firing off two shots– one into a still dummy’s head and the other into its body. It detonates on cue, the morbid, squeaky death rattle ringing off metal walls.

“What,” Jesse teases, “gonna ask Angela to make a gun arm for ya?”

“Instant gratification is nice,” Genji sniffs. He leaves the statement hanging to destroy another dummy, landing two shots in as many seconds. It explodes.

 _A goddamn century_ , McCree thinks, Peacekeeper heavy in its holster. “But?”

Genji swipes his palm twice across the hammer, firing off two wild shots to empty the clip before he flips the revolver, hand on the still-smoking barrel to pass it back to McCree. “But I have to maintain my aesthetic. Your turn.”

However little experience Genji has with guns, it dwarfs Jesse’s nonexistent practice with throwing stars. “I hate this,” Jesse gripes, “all of this.” He mock-scowls at Genji’s bark of laughter, hefting the (surprisingly heavy) shuriken in his hand. “I can’t even hit one, and you’re out there landing three at once? Cheatin’ cyborg.”

“I could do it as a teenager,” Genji counters, taking no offense at the crack. They’d fallen quickly and easily back into the same rapport they established in Blackwatch: small jabs at each other’s shortcomings, the boasts and competition. Zenyatta hadn’t seemed fazed at all, though McCree’d expected at lease _some_ reproach from the monk for goading his student. ( _He likes to spar as well_ , Genji had said. _You should hear him trash talk._ )

“I think,” Jesse groans, “we’ve been here for _hours_.”

“You must be getting old,” Genji snipes back, “it’s only been thirty-seven minutes. Are you bored of me?”

A grin. “When am I ever not?”

“If I have to listen to you telling me how to use a revolver,” Genji answers, pressing two more stars into his hand, “you can land _one_  shuriken. They will correct themselves for wind if you throw correctly.”

Genji always did take some sadistic pleasure in forcing McCree to endure his own bad decisions, no leeway even for someone he’d worked so closely with. _We can watch a movie while Lucio and Song-kun stream_ , Genji had said. _We can watch the stream_ , he’d said. _Or,_  Jesse recalls saying, mentally kicking himself in the head for even thinking to suggest such a thing, _let’s hit the training room and see if we can’t settle that bet from six years ago._

(Genji’d watched the two rehearse this particular video, a primer for new Starcraft players, and spoiled it for Jesse already.

Sadist.)

Jesse practically gnaws on the inside of his cheek, nose straining for some whiff of the cigarillo he’d smoked just before entering hell. Before trying again he sweeps his hat off, sets it gently on the catwalk and weighs it down by its brim with the revolver Genji had used earlier. This time he drops into the same low, wide-legged forward stance Genji adopts in the field, his chaps creaking at the seams as he assumes the position. He ignores a stifled mechanical chuckle behind him and sends three ninja throwing stars in wildly different directions.

One hits, dinging weakly off a training bot’s chassis and clattering to the floor. The other two disappear entirely, probably blown off the edge of the training area into Gibraltar Bay and the rocks below.

“Well,” Genji says after a moment, a strangled pitch to his voice as he fights back another laugh, “you hit one. I suppose you are released from training.”

Against his own better judgement, Jesse shakes his head. “You and I both know that doesn’t count, Genji.”

“I was giving you an out,” Genji tells him, in case he’d missed it.

“Don’t need one. I’ll get this right or die tryin’.”

“It seems you will die trying,” Genji quips.

“Of old age, I reckon.” Jesse gestures with his fingers for another shuriken as Genji heaves a sigh and hands it over.

“You do not have to stand like that,” Genji says as McCree hikes his belt up again. “Please,” he adds when Jesse seems determined to ignore him, “I’m begging you.”

Jesse’s chewing on his lip trying to work up a retort when another gust of wind sweeps under the brim of his hat and pulls it loose, both agents diving for it as it tumbles twice and sweeps past the guardrail, over the edge of the catwalk. Jesse and Genji lean over, hoping to catch a glimpse of it before it’s carried away by the waves below.

Instead of the expected smudge of lost hat in the distance, Hanzo’s head pops over the rail on the level under them, craning his head to look up. He brandishes the hat, apparently snatched out of the air as it drifted past him, and addresses McCree. “Yours, I presume?”

Genji crosses his arms over the rail, foot tapping idly against metal. “What are you doing here?”

Regarding Genji’s fidgeting through the metal grating, Hanzo answers, “They are finished streaming, so I was going to practice. If you would rather not be disturbed–”

“So diligent,” Genji comments as he swings down to meet his brother. “You watched?”

Jesse catches strains of their conversation as he takes the scenic route, traveling a short distance to access the stairs that would take him to their position rather than risk busting his head open on the cliff. Hanzo’s reply is stiff, a little awkward. “How one executes a strategy game can reveal much about how they work in the field.”

A long pause. McCree’s familiar with it– that second of quiet Genji allows to pass if he’s decidedly not taking someone at their word, and he’s not disappointed when he finally draws back into range. “If you want to play Starcraft so badly,” Genji says, his tone unchanged but with a distinct perk of his shoulders, “just ask to use Song-kun’s rig. She likes to show it off.”

Jesse rubs his eyes, unsure if he’s just _imagining_  that cagey glance toward the training arena exit. “I don’t want to play Starcraft,” Hanzo says stiffly, grip tightening around his bow as he navigates around Genji toward the moving dummies. “I would rather spend my time honing my skill.”

Genji dogs his footsteps, a sight that must be familiar to Hanzo but is utterly foreign to McCree. In Blackwatch Genji had been withdrawn, sullen, his movement always saturated with some deadly purpose. Time reserved for mischief was rare. “You watch a lot of Starcraft videos,” Genji drawls, trotting after Hanzo, “for someone who doesn’t want to play Starcraft. I think you’d be good at it.”

Hanzo throws a glance over his shoulder, sharing a resigned look with McCree before he regards his little brother again. A certain understanding ( _No use arguing_ ,) passes between them. He says instead, “Santos wanted to know if you would give him feedback on editing.”

Pulling up short, Genji rolls his shoulders, pretending to weigh his options. Goad his brother while he tries to practice or spend some time with Lucio when he’s _finally_  not busy? The answer is obvious. “I think I will,” he says, already turning to leave. “Song-kun evicted me for being too distracting before the stream.”

Jesse waits for Genji, using every one of his cyborg enhancements to make his way to the exit, to pull out of earshot. He takes the hat Hanzo passes back to him, quickly replacing it on his head and tipping it in thanks. “I haven’t seen him like this before,” he comments after a few seconds of blessed silence, sneaking a look at Hanzo’s distant expression. “Genji was real different back when we worked together.”

Hanzo’s mouth twists, caught between the inclination to apologize for the nuisance that Genji must have been and the thought that if anyone still has the right to do that, it certainly isn’t him. “That must have been difficult for all of you,” he offers cautiously. Genji, cyberized; the rest of Overwatch, dealing with a bored, angry cyborg Genji.

“Well, he was helpin’ us out, too.” McCree glances up, scratching his chin as he flashes Hanzo a wry grin. Compared to the job Zenyatta, Lucio and D.Va had done on Genji, Overwatch’s progress with the man seems miniscule, almost cruelly inefficient in comparison. “Like to think we might’ve made things a bit easier for him. Got nothin’ on those new kids, though.”

Frowning, Hanzo drops his gaze to the grating below his feet. “Thank you,” he says, briefly meeting McCree’s eyes, “for watching over him.”

“Wasn’t all me,” Jesse answers quickly. It’s been years since he’d spoken regularly with Genji, but the polite distance seems common across the Shimada brothers. He also knows how easily that civility falls away– Genji’s flat, brisk responses to questions that hit a little too close to home, the easy banter he can volley over the comms when an assignment catches his interest enough. “Now,” Jesse comments, following Hanzo toward a moving field of training bots, “a bow and arrow? I’ve seen you do work, but you ever think that’s a bit old-fashioned?”

Hanzo stops a good distance away, nocking an arrow and pulling it back. “Storm Bow is custom,” he says, no strain in his voice despite the effort of holding his draw, “and state-of-the-art. I upgrade it every year.”

The arrow whistles when Hanzo releases his string, and across the arena a training bot explodes in a shower of shrapnel. Jesse inhales through his teeth, eyes drawn back to the graceful single movement Hanzo makes to draw another arrow. “It’s got a _name_ ,” he says, cheekily highlighting the old-fashioned-ness of naming a weapon.

“You use a six-shooter,” Hanzo points out, his lip quirking so slightly that McCree has to wonder whether or not he’s imagining that as well. “With a spur on its grip.”

McCree raises his eyebrows, pulling aside his sarape to reveal said gun with a spur on its grip. “Aw shucks, I didn’t think you’d noticed.” He grins at the short, huffed laugh he gets in response (yet another Shimada brothers trademark, surely) and asks, “Feel like puttin’ Storm Bow to the test against my Peacekeeper?”

“Do you feel like losing?” Hanzo retorts, eyes lighting up in interest.

 _Bless the Shimada brothers’ inability to ever pass up a challenge_. Jesse draws his weapon. “Do you?”

They stay tied for however long it is until they stop keeping count (twenty minutes for McCree, nearly an hour for Hanzo). “Y'know,” Jesse says at some point, taking a break to watch Hanzo decimate a single file of bots, “Genji was doin’ alright with a six-shooter earlier. You two ever consider usin’ guns?”

“He hates the kick,” Hanzo says simply. To McCree’s knowledge, neither of the brothers have had much of a conversation since they’d arrived in Gibraltar so Hanzo must know that from when they were younger. “And I prefer the discretion of a bow.”

Jesse nods sagely. “Utility too, I’m thinkin’.” He grins, gesturing at the identical fletchings of each bolt in his quiver (how Hanzo knows which arrow he’s drawn will remain a mystery to him forever) and says, “Arrow for every situation.”

“Yes.”

“You ever had one,” says Jesse, “with a boxing glove on it?”

Hanzo’s shoulders stiffen, but he decides not to dignify that with a response.

“I’m takin’ that as a yes,” McCree tells him.

Another time: “Why spurs?” Hanzo asks, ears attuned to each of their tinny clinks as Jesse moves to take up position behind three training bots and unloads his entire clip into the backs of their heads. Six bullets, two each; three piles of shrapnel. Hanzo’s perched on a rail, less ‘curious bird’ (as is Genji’s wont) and more 'lounging predator’, sharp eyes following McCree’s hands as he reloads.

“Seemed fitting,” he answers simply, prepared for a round of teasing. Genji had certainly yanked his chain for a good week upon meeting again, commenting on all the things that are different and all the things that have remained exactly the same– almost as if making up for lost time, the years they’d spent out of contact as well as their stints in Blackwatch. Hanzo only gives him a neutral look, then nods, as if in perfect understanding.

('You should meet my brother,’ Genji had said once, regarding McCree with an impassive, flat stare. Jesse had wondered what he meant, knowing their history and the incident that had brought Genji to Overwatch, but even back then Genji had moments where his feelings toward his brother didn’t _only_  involve hatred and anger, much as he tried to claim otherwise. Jesse’s sure that he would’ve gotten a sword to the throat for suggesting that Genji _missed_  Hanzo, so he never did. Still.)

Jesse refreshes his stockpile of ammunition twice and Hanzo’s retrieved his arrows no fewer than a half-dozen times before the archer calls it quits, returning silently to the entrance area to claim a towel and dab away the sweat on his neck and collar. Hanzo adjusts the neckline of his gi, counts his arrows and inspects the straps of his equipment while McCree buries his face in a cold towel of his own. “I’m finished for the day,” Hanzo tells him, standing serenely in the center of the room.

He’s nearly a head shorter than McCree but that sheer presence makes Jesse wonder whether or not the man really was trained as a ninja; Hanzo’s eye-catching, whether or not he wants to be. Jesse can’t even imagine him melting into shadows the way Genji does, and with all the information Blackwatch had collected on the Shimada brothers a decade ago, nothing suggested that he would’ve been called on to conduct stealth operations. In practice Hanzo had done very little of the ducking and weaving Genji relies on, mowing down bots at a steady, relentless pace that neither Genji nor Tracer had ever been able to sustain.

“It was good workin’ with ya,” Jesse says, already imagining Hanzo on assignment with them, picking off targets from afar. He and Genji really were trained to complement each other perfectly; they’d be a nightmare to face off against. Reyes had paired his agents the same way.

“Let’s do this again,” Hanzo offers, his head ducking very slightly in a polite nod.

Jesse tips his hat. His eyes stay on the steady sway of Hanzo’s shoulders as the other man walks away, those long, confident strides. The door shuts behind him and Jesse yawns, turning to blink in surprise at the setting sun.

_Already?_


End file.
